


The Longing

by sam_erotica



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_erotica/pseuds/sam_erotica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That longing will eat you from the inside.</p>
<p>This was originally written in 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longing

You’ve tried not to watch him, but you always do anyway. His image haunts the corner of your eye; it lingers there when you should be focused on something else. His voice floats into your ears before all others, even in a crowd. Your skin craves the touch of him, your tongue wants nothing but the taste of him even though you know you don’t deserve it, not after what you did.

He’s a little bit broken now, and you see it each time he thinks he’s alone. In the presence of others he is the same effervescent, joyful creature he was when you met – overflowing with life, generous with his touch, painting your ears with his laugh. Then he wanders off a bit, to take in the spectacular desert sunset or catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar bird on the far-off horizon, and you know. You know like you know the sound of your breath in your own ears – you need him, and he’ll never let himself need you again.

You were all so naïve when you met in New Zealand. Sure, you had been working for a long time and this was his first big project, but you were both like children in a lot of ways. He loved you blindly in those months, told you he didn’t give a damn what people thought. He told you this repeatedly, his fingertips sizzling on your skin, his tongue licking you clean after you came with him again and again. And you loved him back silently, fearfully, always looking over your shoulder yet longing every minute for his lips on yours. You thought that longing would eat you from the inside. You told him it was too much for you, and you were right, then.

Now you wonder how you should tell him, IF you should tell him – how you miss . . . everything. You miss the taste of his tongue after a Guinness and a cigarette. You miss the deep rumble of his moans. You miss the smell of the skin behind his ear, the strength of his legs wrapped around your waist, the weight of his skull in your hands as you thrust deeper and deeper into him. It’s not a coincidence that you are working together again – you made unreasonable promises to the studio just to be near him. But you can almost hear his soft-spoken response to your confession: “First Viggo, now you. You’re both bastards.” And he’ll stare at you before he walks away, probably shaking his head, maybe letting his eyes fill up with tears but not lifting a graceful finger to wipe them away.

Viggo made the same mistake, and just like you, regretted it later. Just like you, he realized how hard it is to breathe without Orlando. Just like you, he watched that door slowly close in front of him.

You’re watching him now as he wanders the dusty beach. The early morning light is pale silver on his olive skin as he kicks at an errant stone. You know he hears your clumsy approach, but he doesn’t turn to face you until you finally find your voice to ask: “Do you want to talk about it?”

The look on his face, the crease on his brow, is like a punch in the gut. You don’t think. You just move towards him to cradle him in your arms, prepared for him to push you away and call you a bastard, but hoping he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t.

He just lets his forehead rest lightly on your chest as you breathe him in, rubbing small circles over the scar on his back that you can’t feel but you know is there. He is silent. You could almost pretend that everything is okay between you, that you were never apart, that you never broke his heart. But you don’t. 

Instead, you say, “I miss you so much,” and “I’m so sorry.”

Then he looks at you, his eyes awash with anger and fear and hope and desire. He lifts his chin imperceptibly, daring you to take a chance and kiss him, to risk being turned away. And you do, electricity jolting every part of you as your cautious lips meet his defiant ones. He doesn’t turn away. Instead, his arms curl around your waist and his lips part, his sigh riding off his tongue onto yours.

And you hope that maybe that door is opening again, just a little.


End file.
